


(but don't forget) in whose arms you're gonna be

by hooksandheroics



Series: this has got to be the good life [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fostering Puppies, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 14:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14571207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hooksandheroics/pseuds/hooksandheroics
Summary: They don't fall in love like in the novels. It took some time. It took some realizing. But they got there.





	(but don't forget) in whose arms you're gonna be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyfriday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfriday/gifts).



> title from michael buble's save the last dance for me.
> 
> god, this was a long write. the longest i've written so far. (i know, what a weakling.) but it wouldn't be possible without the most demonic demon to ever grace the earth. yo tara, read this. it's my wall of text that will make you cry.
> 
> i've thought of giving this fic up at one point, and i've told tara this. but what really kept me going was her. yikes, sappy, but since i'm basically scott with loving romcoms and being soft, eh. let me be. no one has pulled me through my slumps and has been there for me through my writing crazes like tara has. she also proofread this so well. yo guys, if you wanna applaud someone, applaud her. god knows i'm tiring to be around when i'm in either of those moods.
> 
> anyway, shout out to VM PH. if yall are reading this, keep the bembangan to a minimum pls. i'm just an innocent child.
> 
> also, timeline concerning the tour isn't accurate.
> 
> with all of that said, let's get on with it.

Tessa meets David like a heroine in a book meets her love interest. Bluntly, obviously, and charmingly.

She’d taken to a pretty loose tight schedule after the media storm died down. It consists of waking up at 9, having breakfast with Scott at 9:30 because he insists that she knock on his door across the hall to eat whenever she wants to, and then getting dressed to go to the café five minutes away from their building.

It’s small, not a lot of people go there at the hours she’s there, and it’s very pretty. It’s definitely just an added bonus that the owner is a good-looking guy. Who smiles at her when she comes in. And comps her drinks two days out of the five she spends there (the other three, she refuses, it’s a business after all and she wants to help, not because the guy gives her this attractive amused smile).

(She’s learned this from Scott, who pays for every on-the-house beer at every bar. And everything else.)

She learns his name the second week because he puts on his name tag.

David, it says. _Owner_.

Her eyes must have gotten so wide because David grins at her and extends his hand. “David Reyes,” he says, his accent a mix of Canadian and something else. She shakes it and says,

“Tessa –”

“Virtue, yes I know,” he replies. “I leave the café. Sometimes.”

He’s charming and funny, and when he finds some half hour of calm, he sits next to her and bugs her about her books (mostly her textbooks, and then a novel or two from Jordan). In the middle of discussing some ethics topic she’s going to take next semester, a customer comes in and he shoots Tessa a reluctant look – like attending to his business has the same weight as spending time with her, and then he says, “I’m tempted to flip the sign on the door.”

She laughs and shakes her head and she goddamn tucks her hair behind her ear, shoos him away and says, “I’m not going anywhere,” even when her phone buzzes with a text from Scott about going grocery shopping.

She spends that afternoon talking with David, completely ignoring her advanced readings, and Scott’s texts. She finds out about his Filipino mother and his Canadian father, about him working at the café at 18, inheriting it from the previous owner at 24, and now he’s 31 and running the business all on his own. She learns about how he keeps his full beard looking like _that_ , he chuckles all through the explanation, and runs his hand through his hair, embarrassed.

Tessa gets home at around 3 in the afternoon, and just as she’s about to unlock her door, the one across the hall opens and –

“Scott?” she asks. “Where are you going?”

He looks up at her, surprise on his features. He’s dressed like he’s going out, and he has a toothpick between his teeth like when… whenever he’s –

“I was going to get you,” he replies, voice small, the thin piece of wood moving around his mouth.

This is bad, Tessa thinks. She hates it when he chews on _things_.

“Get me?”

He straightens up and takes the toothpick out of his mouth, plays with it around his fingers. He chews the inside of his mouth and says, “You weren’t answering my texts.”

Tessa blinks. “I was… at the café.”

“Yeah,” he nods, still not looking at her. “I know. We were supposed to go to the grocery, but, uh, I went alone.”

Her heart squeezes in her chest. She did tell him she’d go with him, she needed to pick up some stuff, too. And the grocery store is their _thing_. Just like going to the rink at the crack of dawn every Wednesday, and petting all the dogs in Montreal, and having breakfast at his place. Like movie nights at Tessa’s every Saturday. Like all the songs in the radio that they once danced to (in public and in private).

Guilt weighs heavy in her stomach, but there’s something else there, too. Something she has no name to call, not yet. He looks so let down and she wants to hug him and kiss him, but she can’t.

There was a time after Korea when every time they held hands, he would smile and squeeze her fingers. And when they hugged, it was a little bit tighter, a little bit longer. It was a little bit warmer. And then they got condos in the same floor and something shifted. Something shifted to the left and it feels wrong, but also not wrong enough to notice.

Suddenly, there’s a bubble.

There has always been a bubble, Tessa thinks. But this one feels bigger. It feels all-consuming and constricting, and the world outside seems warped from inside. Scott must have felt that shift, too, because he’s been _less_ . Not too _less_ , just a little.

There’s the shift.

So instead, she smiles apologetically, tells him _next time_ , and goes to her apartment.

Not a minute later, there’s a knock on her door and when she opens it, there’s a bag of milk and a box of eggs and Scott.

“You said you needed these,” he says, an attempt at a smile. “Can you take them? I have –

She takes them from him and he fishes something out of his back pocket.

“I –

“You were complaining about PMS yesterday, I thought maybe… these will help.”

Chocolates, her favorite kind.

She wants to kiss him (again), but she can’t. So instead, she nods and smiles and squeezes his arm. If she tries hard enough, she can forget the way his eyes crumble a little at the corners, like he’s waiting for something that didn’t come.

He waves goodbye and she closes her door.

And that’s that.

*

It feels a little bit like cheating.

And it shouldn’t.

Tessa goes back to the café next week and sees David bent behind the counter. She doesn’t know why, but the stone in her gut returns as he straightens up and puts on a smile for her.

The café looks somber in the early morning, like it usually does, and David, he… well, he looks like he usually does (bright smile, bright eyes, his _beard_ ).

And then he frowns. “You look like you’re at 80%,” he says, and then leans against the counter, all serious eyes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you always look good, but you look… sad.”

Tessa can’t help but blink at him, all silent and speechless. (She’s reminded bluntly of the fact that the only person to get her like that has always been Scott. And the only person brave enough to call her out like that has always been Scott. And then there’s David.)

David puts up a finger and nods. “Go to your booth, I’ll bring your order out in a minute.”

“But I didn’t even tell you what I wanted.”

He winks at her and shoos her to her usual spot, and not a minute later, he’s pushing a mug of something sweet-smelling in front of her. When Tessa looks up, he’s grinning at her.

“Try it,” he says, and when she does, it hits her gut and melts the weight there.

“What’s in it?”

He takes his place right next to her and clears his throat. “Your usual order, and then a shot of liquid chocolate. You kept ordering that sickly sweet chocolate pastry during your first week, I figured you’d like this one.”

Tessa smiles. “It’s perfect.”

They sit in silence as the café buzzes with its early morning foot traffic. David keeps glancing at her, inquisitive but not quite invasive. It’s his eyes, she decides. They’re kind and soft and it reminds her so much of something warm (like a well-deserved win, or a perfect skate, or two arms and a smile so big it consumes all her heart – it’s the feeling, she thinks, insists, not the person they all belong to).

And then he hums. “It’s the partner, isn’t it?”

If she can’t hide her surprise, he doesn’t say it. “Scott?”

“Is that his name?”

She chuckles. “Don’t pretend you don’t know his name.”

“Yeah okay,” he concedes. “Did he do something? Say something? Was it something he _didn’t_ do?”

Tessa shakes her head.

Tells him it’s nothing, not that it’s any of his business. But it’s this morning, she thinks. When she came to knock on his door to apologize and for breakfast because she knows what she’s about, but he didn’t come out. It’s when she was waiting for the elevator close to 10 am and she saw him coming up the stairs all sweaty and out of breath, one earphone in his ear as he fiddled with his iPod. It was the plastic stirrer he must have nicked from some coffee place that was in his mouth. And when he looked up to see her, he blinked so hard like he couldn’t believe she’s there.

It was his surprised breathy exhalation of her name, like he hasn’t seen her in a while.

It’s her half-baked apology and his small nod and his hesitant goodbye.

But she doesn’t tell David any of that.

She tells him instead that the drink is good and that he should _really_ help his helpless barista with the onslaught of customers. She entertains a young fan with an autograph and a picture, and shakes her head at David’s teasing smile.

The light feeling in her chest stays until she’s at her door, keys jangling hesitantly.

She hears soft music coming from the unit right across from hers, familiar beats, but the words escape her memory.

Tessa smiles.

Once upon a time, young Scott Moir used to make her listen to mix tapes filled with beats and rap music, and once upon a time, she used to force herself to like them. Once upon a time, she had the biggest crush on the youngest, funniest Moir boy, and once upon a time, she would wonder what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Something happened along the way, she thinks. She still wonders every now and then, but – well, it’s Scott. Her best friend, her skating partner no matter what. The first boy she’s ever held hands with, the first boy she ever told about her getting her period. The first boy she’s told “I love you” to, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. When she tells reporters and journalists about the complexity of their relationship, she isn’t doing it for the _aww_ ’s and _ooh_ ’s.

She pockets her keys and knocks on his door. When he opens it, he’s in his sweats, bare chested, and flushed –

“Tess?”

“Yes,” she says, intelligently. “What’s… up?”

He scratches the back of his head (his hair has been growing longer, he hasn’t cut it in a while and it makes her heart race), reminds her so much of when he was a boy. He did that a lot whenever he was embarrassed. “I was trying to fix the air filter,” he replies. “You can come in if you want, I think I got it.”

She sheds her coat and takes her place on his couch, like she always does. It’s where she takes her breakfast plate whenever he places it in front of her on the kitchen counter. He used to frown at her from afar, mumbling about getting food stains on his pristine white sofa, but now he’s taken to joining her in front of the TV in the mornings, quiet and still mumbling. But he’d smile and bump her shoulders with his, and she’d steal his bacon just the way he hated it. It’s comfort at the edge of the cliff where the air is thin and cold. It’s comfort, nonetheless.

Just… sometimes, she wishes he wasn’t _so_ comfortable. Sometimes, it’s distracting. Not too much though, she’s seen him in various states of undress all throughout two decades of their lives. Scott shirtless, possibly sweating, definitely flushed is not a new look. Him with a toothpick between his teeth _isn’t_ new, too. She’s always known, ever since they were little children, that there’s this habit that he can’t kick. Especially when he’s anxious or whenever he’s trapped in his own mind, he sticks objects in his mouth and chews on them like a puppy.

She used to find it annoying, used to slap his hand away from his mouth and scold him for it.

Now, it’s just… distracting – the way his jaw would work, the tick he gets in his cheek, the shine on his lips.

He’s put on a sweater, much to her relief (dismay) and has the screwdriver in his mouth as he sorts the screws in the palm of his hand. He is standing in front of the thermostat, brows knitted.

“I have that movie you were talking about last week – the Sandra Bullock one,” he says, still focused on his job.

“Miss Congeniality?”

“Yeah, I have it on queue,” he replies. “You can load it up if you want. I just have to – ah – finish this and then we can watch it.”

Tessa knows there’s a fine line between whatever this is that they are and whatever it is that’s on the other side of what they are, and her welcoming him to the space next to her on the couch as she presses play, and her pressing herself into his side where she always belongs, and him wrapping an arm around her shoulders and breathing his commentary into her hair and chuckling at the funny parts and caressing her skin with his thumb and – those things, they’re toeing the line. It’s a very fine line, Tessa likes to remind herself.

And then she forgets about the line when he presses the softest of kisses to the side of her head for no reason at all. She forgets about it along with asking just _why_ he does the things he does. For her, to her.

And then he asks, “Something about that café a block away?” right as the credits roll. It jostles her so much that she takes a couple of suspicious seconds before she answers.

“What about it?”

“You go there a lot,” he says, and there’s something about his voice that makes her want to peel away from his side to look him in the eye. The same _something_ that glues her to where she is. It’s terrifying.

She can chalk it up to nerves when she starts rubbing her thumb at the material of his sweater, not at all like a manifestation of the guilt that she should not be feeling at all. “Their coffee’s good.”

Scott hums, and it’s unsettling. And then – “It’s just… someone posted a pic, that’s all.”

Oh. Oh, she thinks. She hasn’t checked her social media accounts at all in the last couple of hours, she was too absorbed in the movie, and the feelings, that she forgot to look at her phone.

When she opens her Instagram, it’s there. It looks lightly shaken, taken with her back to the camera and with – god, with David smiling so openly at her terrible joke.

She is silent for a few minutes, just staring at the photo until Scott speaks.

“I just think you should be more careful, T,” he says, his arm going away from around her shoulders. She misses the warmth already, she wants to pull him back and cuddle still, but her heart is pounding so heavily that she can’t move. “People still care.”

“What does that mean?” her head snaps so hard towards him that she feels a little dizzy, but he’s just looking at her with blank eyes. Fury grips her heart so tight and for a moment the words come out jumbled in her head that none of them make it out of her mouth. But then – “What do you care?”

He huffs and bends until his elbows are on his knees, hand carding through his hair (it’s truly too long now, and she wants to grip and yank it tightly between her fingers and tell him he’s being an idiot – and kiss him, but she can’t). He looks tired, Tessa figures. Some other time, she would feel sorry, but not this time. This time, she feels angry because he’s doing exactly what they wanted to get away from when they retired.

“I care because it’s still Tessa _and_ Scott,” he says quietly. “You and me.”

Tessa huffs, the humor absent. “If you want to get out of this, it’s okay, Scott.”

“That’s not what I meant –

“What else do you mean?” and her voice has taken such a high tone that even _she_ cringes. Scott, on the other hand, has clamped his mouth shut. When he doesn’t answer that’s where she finds her answer.

The last thing she remembers of him for the day is his parted lips – like he wants to say something, and his wide eyes – pleading and apologizing. And then the slam of his door behind her.

For as long as she can remember, Scott has always been an idiot. A well-meaning one, but still an idiot. Sometimes, not as well-meaning, but that was before. Something shifted after Sochi, something vital and wedged deep into the very core of what they are, and the Scott she knew became the Scott she just simply, irrevocably loves. She loves him, she tells him that every time she feels like it. He tells her the same thing. It’s the natural order of things, she’d like to believe. Scott and her heart, it’s not even a choice. It’s just that sometimes… he’s hard to understand, the meaning behind his words and his actions, hard to decipher.

Scott, with his heart on his sleeve and his smile ready and his soul an open book – people think he’s easy to read. But she’s spent a majority of her teenage life and some of her adult life trying to make sense of his actions more times than is probably normal.

She doesn’t know for how long she’s stood in front of her door, but only when the one next to Scott’s opens and closes does she snap into reality.

“Did you forget your keys, dear?”

The old lady in the unit next to Scott’s has a doctor daughter who works long hours. Her name is Clara and she’s frail and lovely, and she never _ever_ remembers who they are.

“Hi, Clara,” Tessa smiles. “No, it’s – I just, yeah.”

“Oh, Tessa,” she says, all wrapped and ready for the mid-afternoon walk she always takes. She walks slowly towards her, eyes smiling and kind, and reaches for her arm. “I’m sure it’s there somewhere. Have you checked Scott’s?”

Tessa jangles her purse and holds up her fist, her keys trapped in her hand. She tries a smile and Clara, beautiful lovely Clara, nods. “It’s always there, somewhere,” she says, and pats her arm before walking away.

*

It’s thirty minutes to midnight and she should probably not have replied to his text as quickly as she did, but it’s –

_i’m sorry, tess, i was an idiot. do you want to go to the park with me tomorrow?_

And not even five minutes after she received it, she replies,

_Only if it’s the dog park._

_deal_ , he immediately texts back.

And if she can’t hide her smile, it’s okay. Nobody’s got a camera around anyway.

*

When she opens her door to an insistent knocking at eight in the morning (she’s usually not _even awake_ at this hour), she does so with a frown and a ready curse word. But then it’s Scott with coffee in a thermos and a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches still steaming fresh from the pan. He’s dressed to go out like – oh, _right_.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he teases, smile huge and just downright morning-person-esque. She wants to cover his mouth with her hand and drag him away from her doorway and into her bed. To sleep. Not for anything else.

“I hate you,” she mumbles, turning away from him and walking to her kitchen knowing he will follow right at her heels.

He’s silently laughing as she plops down on her kitchen stool, setting the plate on the counter in front of her. “I made more than enough,” he says, trying to keep from smiling too much. She can see it in the tension around his eyes. “No stealing.”

She snorts. “Just for that, I’m getting all the coffee.”

His jaw drops in mock offense, his lips forming a small ‘o’, and he’s so adorable it’s ridiculous this early in the morning. So instead, she stuffs her mouth with grilled cheese and sends him glares when he laughs and tells her she’s cute.

Yesterday suddenly dissipates into thin air and maybe it’s the morning but she’s glad she can always have him back like this (when he’s cute and making her the best breakfast and the best coffee, when he’s reading her hockey scores from his phone, when he’s doing that thing with his mouth that’s unsettlingly cute but also stirs her guts like nothing else).

It’s five minutes into the car ride, right at a red light, when she leans over the gear shift and kisses his cheek (gets the corner of his mouth instead just as he’s turning to tell her something).

Her lips linger just for a few seconds and when she pulls away, he’s looking at her with a dazed kind of expression that’s – it’s –

“What was that for?” he asks, voice rough. His eyes are back on the road, resolutely not looking at her. But there’s a flush on his cheeks and it’s lovely.

“I really…” she leans back on her seat and looks out the window, lips curving into a smile she almost presses to the window. She bites her lip, she can’t smile too much, it gives her away. “… love the dog park.”

He laughs. “ _That_ much?”

“Yeah – shut up.”

After, he can’t stop smiling and looking over at her, and then smiling again, and if her heart flips over in her chest, no one can tell. Just her.

*

There’s a reason she likes the dog park so much, especially on a nice day out like this.

There’s a bench just underneath the shade of an old tree just to the side of the spot where all the small dogs run around and it’s her favorite place. She used to think she’d get a small dog once she got her own place, have little feet patter around her floor and chew on stuff when she’s not looking.

And then travels happened and she can’t stay at one place for too long. Training took the majority of her time, and she couldn’t figure out the logistics of trying to sustain another life when she’s absent most of the time.

Anyway, she’s got Scott to patter around her condo and chew on her plastic spoons so. She’s set on that part.

This thought makes her laugh to herself, something Scott notices because he has his arm around her shoulders and she’s got her head pressed to the crook of his neck.

“What’s so funny?”

She bites her lip and looks up at him, up to his questioning hazel eyes, to his mouth where the stem of the lollipop he was chewing on is dangling, to his confused frown – she giggles again.

“You see that?” she asks, pointing at a brown puppy in the clearing, its owner a young girl in a pink dress calling out its name but being resolutely ignored for a chew toy that’s probably not its own.

“That’s cute,” he says.

“That’s you,” she says, and she feels his arm squeeze her tightly.

Scott huffs indignantly. “That’s _not_ me. I’m more like that – huge dog with the tattooed owner over there.” He takes her hand and uses it to point at somewhere farther.

“No, no – look,” she takes back her hand and points at the puppy as it takes a too large leap over a tree stump and stumbles face first. It wiggles around until it gets back on its feet to run towards the girl, but she’s already laughing.

“Oh,” Scott laughs. “We’re making fun of my stumbles now, thank you very much, Virtue.”

He withdraws the arm he has around her shoulders and crosses them in front of his chest, indignant like a child. His pout makes the plastic stem point up at the sky and – well, she’s endeared.

Tessa takes the stem from his mouth and watches as he turns to her, surprise on his face. “Oh come on, you big baby. I was just joking,” she tells him when he bends over the little space between them to swipe at the hand she stretches so that he can’t take it back from her.

“You’re – evil –

He’s still struggling and she can’t tell why because she’s definitely smaller and he’s definitely faking it, but he’s so close and there is still the tint of pink from the cherry lollipop that was in his mouth earlier. (She wonders not for the first time what it would be like if she had a taste of his lips – cherry lollipop or none at all.)

His breath is hitting her face, so close that she’s almost lying on the park bench, the entire length of his torso pressing her backwards (his other hand pressing support on her back, but there’s a heat there that she doesn’t want to think too hard about so she ignores it).

She’s laughing loudly now, her belly hurting from too much of it. (And if she throws her head back and exposes her neck, if his breath on her skin sends little shudders down her spine – nobody’s talking about it.)

A soft thing lands on Scott’s head, bouncing off his hair and landing on the ground at their feet and suddenly, he’s forgotten how to hold his body up and crushes them together, Tessa under his weight.

The light breeze suddenly feels oppressing, the fabric of his jacket rough against her own clothes. His breath is warm against her lips and their noses too close –

His eyes skim her face, like he’s done so many times before, but this carries something heavy and warm – “Sorry,” he mumbles as he lifts himself up on his elbows, and it gives her space to breathe but at the same time, the light breeze feels _too_ cold.

“Sorry!” a smaller voice says, and it’s the girl in the pink dress. She’s sweaty and smiling at the both of them, the puppy waddling at her heels. “I threw it too far.”

They spring off and away from each other and Scott, ever the charming gentleman, picks up the toy and gives it to the girl. “Cute puppy you got there, what’s its name?”

The girl grins. “Her name’s Barbie and I’m Jane!”

“What a coincidence,” Scott gasps, grinning brightly at Jane, and then at Tessa. “My girl here’s name is Jane, too!”

Jane, the little girl, giggles so hard that the puppy tries at a bark in alarm. Tessa on the other hand punches him in the arm.

(His girl.)

“Do you want to pet Barbie?” she asks Scott, possibly smitten.

Her partner has that effect on people. He used to have that effect on her too, and then she grew up, and he did, too, and she became immune. She thinks.

(His eyes crinkle at the corners as he hid behind her throw pillow, she can’t remember why but she was laughing so hard at something he said. It’s there that she realized that she _is never_ immune.)

Barbie the puppy squirms in his lap, all energy and blunt teeth that catch on the zipper of his jacket. Jane scratches behind her ear, babbling constantly about pet day at school, and about her mom probably tearing her hair out looking for her.

Tessa gets the puppy in her arms as Scott sits the girl between them. It’s a baby golden retriever with ears too big for its body, and a tongue that’s lolling out from exertion. And when a woman in a white cardigan with the same golden hair as Jane bounds up to them, calling out her name, Tessa almost doesn’t let go of the puppy. But she has to because Jane holds her arms out for her Barbie and cuddles her close to her chest, and then gives the both of them hugs bigger than her body.

The mom probably recognizes them because she pauses for the longest time, just staring, but is kind enough not to say anything, and as Jane waves the puppy’s paws goodbye for them, Tessa’s heart breaks a little.

She and Scott sit there in silence, smiles on both of their faces, until he fishes out his phone and holds it in both of his hands, the air around him contemplative and a little tense. Tessa stiffens a little.

He huffs to break the silence. “I have something…” he taps his phone on his palm and grins at her sheepishly. “I must be making you so nervous. I swear it’s nothing to worry about, I just have something to show you.”

She exhales the breath she’s been holding and relaxes against the backrest of the bench.

Scott scrolls through his phone slowly, like the technophobe that he is, and says, “I visited the local shelter last week and… look,” he shows her his screen and there’s a white mutt with brown patches, another with just the one eye, and the last is a pure black pitbull with wheels for hind legs.

Tessa can’t help the huge smile on her face and when she looks up at Scott, he’s wearing the same grin. There’s something akin to adoration in his eyes that makes her smile stay a little longer.

He stops at the pitbull picture. “This one got adopted twice, got left both times. Lost his legs at the second home when the family car accidentally ran him over. They tried surgery but it didn’t hold. Some kids volunteering at the shelter built him his wheels.”

He pauses and breathes in deep, still smiling this serene smile. She scoots closer.

“He looks like a George, doesn’t he?” he asks after a while.

“Scott?”

“I mean, they probably won’t let me change his name because I’m just fostering, but that never stopped me –

“Scott!”

“What?” he’s grinning so huge and her heart is so full.

Tessa, her chest filled with warmth and light, wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and buries her face in his neck. “I’m so happy for you,” she says into his skin and he chuckles.

“For volunteering to foster a dog?” he asks, still in disbelief like he always is when she is complimenting him. Like all the good he does doesn’t count. She wants to slap him for it but she’s just too happy.

“Yes, idiot,” she pulls away and takes his phone, zooming in to George’s face. “You’re going to be a great dad.”

Scott is silent for a few uncharacteristic seconds, and then he says softly, “You think so?”

Tessa looks at him, hard courage in her eyes. “Of course, I do.”

He wraps an arm around her again and settles into the afternoon like this. He has more pictures of George, and then some of the other dogs at the shelter, some of him getting smothered by little furry creatures, and some with the kids visiting, too. Tessa’s cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

It’s close to lunch and they have the last of their ice cream cones when Scott takes her hand and stands. “You hungry for real food?” he asks.

“Burger, actually,” she says and watches as amusement takes over his features.

“Tessa Virtue?” he says, a smile beginning on his face so bright and lovely, and he’s about to say something more but –

“Tessa?” and when they both turn, there _he_ is, David.

David in a tank top, walking a large dog in its leash. He has his hair up and he’s grinning at her, and she feels her heart flutter a little in her chest.

Somehow, she forgets that Scott has never met David, and that they never talked about him outside the little fight they had yesterday. When Tessa turns to look at Scott, she sees the tension around his eyes and at the clench of his jaw. It’s small but it’s there.

“David!” she greets in return because it would be rude to just stand there in shock. “What are you doing here?”

He runs up to them, his dog jogging obediently by his side. “I was just walking Lassie and then running some errands. You – oh you must be Scott,” he says, hand extending to him.

Scott takes it with a firm shake and a nod of the head. “And you’re David,” Scott says, the flatness of his voice something Tessa wishes was just her imagination.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” David tells him, and Scott’s brows shoot up to his forehead.

“Can’t say the same thing,” he replies.

Tessa wants to slap him.

David, however, just chuckles. “Yeah,” he shrugs. “Well, Tess and I just _officially_ met a week ago, so.”

Scott hums, a non-answer. The tense, awkward air only disappears when David nods at the both of them and says, “Well, I gotta go. Lassie’s been begging for ice cream since yesterday. See you around, Tess?”

She smiles and nods and watches him leave.

*

They have their burgers in Scott’s car because the place was too crowded.

She makes him promise a trip to the gym tomorrow afternoon, and he pouts but doesn’t protest.

He regains the smile around his eyes and his constant babbling about George and _I’m getting him soon, I hope I didn’t forget to dog-proof anything –_

(There’s brittleness in his voice when he says goodbye at the hallway. She takes his hand and leads him to _her_ door instead, and they watch whatever stupid movie he wanted to watch on her couch, her socked feet on his thighs, his hands on her legs.

It’s a romantic comedy about time travel, Rachel McAdams, and second – third – fourth chances.)

*

Tessa is at a seminar downtown when Scott gets George a week later. Her phone buzzes in her pocket and when she opens it, it’s a blurry picture of Scott and a tiny puppy’s tongue lolling to lick his face. She’s about tempted to ditch the seminar to go home and be with her boys, but there’s still an hour left and the speaker is an old woman who likes droning on about consumer rights.

George is a ball of energy who likes running around like a mad man and chewing all of Scott’s shoes (Tessa puts hers in a drawer by the door). He likes peeing everywhere, but most especially on the carpet and the couch. He loves Tessa and nuzzles her whenever he can, and loves Scott and sleeps on his chest whenever he can.

Her most favorite part about all of this is Scott.

It’s him and how he always tells her he hates selfies but sends her one with George every hour whenever he’s home and the puppy is doing something stupid. It’s him and his floor turned land mine of chew toys and different colored balls, and how he censors his swear words whenever he steps on one.

It’s the quiet afternoons, the ones they grapple to get from their busy schedules, when there are plates of pancakes on the coffee table and a full little puppy on Scott’s chest as he lies on the couch, unmoving because he doesn’t want to disturb George’s sleep. The TV plays a replay hockey game, she sees Scott jerk when his team scores, but otherwise, he stays quiet.

It’s endearing.

It’s beautiful.

It’s chipping away at the unspoken line they had drawn, and Tessa realizes this after an early morning radio guesting.

They do not bring up Scott, but they do bring up the picture of David and her at the café, and the split second she took to think of an answer to the hanging question was filled with Scott’s expression when she slammed the door that same afternoon.

“That was me and a friend,” she says, and then adds in a laugh because it’s important to be cool with it all. “I definitely recommend going to that café, it’s in downtown Montreal, it’s chic and their coffee is good, and the owner is quite hilarious, as you all can see.”

After that, she has two more engagements to attend, five pictures from the same angle of George stuck on his side, and later that night, she knocks on Scott’s door with a bottle of wine. It is a gift from one of the producers of the radio show, and when she texted Scott about it after she got it, he immediately suggested a movie to go with it. Suddenly, her day has an ending.

He’s in sweats and a threadbare shirt, and he looks so soft with George under his arm that she forgets about the dread swirling in her stomach all day. All that matters is the delight on his face and the wiggling ball of fur waiting for her.

“You’re home,” he says.

“And I have wine,” she says.

They get drunk on it after dinner, late enough that George has retreated to his dog bed when none of them can entertain him. Scott’s couch becomes more comfortable than it actually is as the bottle dwindles to just a quarter of its contents. (The couch – more like him lying on his back, her head on his chest, his quiet chuckles making it to her ears directly; the steady beat of his heart, the flush on his skin, the warmth of him.)

There’s Jeopardy on the TV, and she pretends to be too drunk to notice their fingers intertwined. She pretends to be asleep when he threads his other hand through her hair, when his thumb skims the skin of her neck, when he kisses the crown of her head. Her heart breaks a little when he thinks she’s completely under and he whispers into her hair, “Don’t leave me, please.”

*

_tour rehearsals start in a week, are you ready?_

**Excited for it, actually!**

_pls tell me you have a plan for when all the slutty shenanigans begin_

**Whatever do u mean, mister buttle**

_chiddy, eric, and I have a betting pool_

**What does that have to do w me?**

_everything, my darling_

*

Tessa remembers waiting in airports all her life. There’s something achingly nostalgic about families separating at the line whenever she sees them, goodbyes, both tearful and happy. She watches them like she watches a movie, a great feeling of _I’m glad I’m just watching_ swirling in her head, a kind of detached mentality because her family’s with her (sometimes), and if not, well, she’s got a ready hand to hold.

This feels a little bit like the airports, Tessa thinks. Their suitcases are already in his car, but he’s lingering at Clara’s doorway saying goodbye to George.

“Hope he doesn’t give you trouble,” Scott tells Clara as he scratches behind the puppy’s ear.

Clara’s smiling at the both of them. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she says.

“Just – call if he’s being a little douchebag,” says Scott, and Tessa can tell. He isn’t ready to let go just yet. “I’ll tell him off, I just got my commanding voice down to pat the other day.”

Clara laughs her little old lady laugh and waves him off. “You best get on your way, don’t want you both to be late for your… business meeting.”

“I knew you were just being friendly to get the dog,” jokes Scott and Clara bursts into laughter.

When they got into the car, he is quiet.

When they pull into the road, he is quiet.

Only when she reaches out to hold the hand he has resting on the gearshift does he look at her and smile.

“He’s going to miss you,” she says as they  merge onto the highway.

His eyes go back to the road but he looks more relaxed. “Yeah, me too.”

Tessa should have known though, that this was the calm before the storm.

She loves her Stars on Ice family more than anything in the skating world, she swears, but having lived for almost three months in a bubble with just Scott, George, and the little places in Montreal, she sometimes forgets how quiet a life can be.

And then Jeffrey Buttle practically launches himself towards Scott just as they enter the venue –

“This is for you, Tessa!” he yells before being caught by Scott. Jeff has his arms and legs around her partner, grinning from ear to ear, as Scott mumbles protests lost to his incessant – “If I could do this and not injure you, I would. But you have your Scott so –

“Can you get off now, she gets the point,” Scott says, pushing Jeff away. He has this frown that’s a half-grin when he’s trying not to smile to prove a point.

Jeff pats him on the butt and walks away with a wink.

If the others give them teasing looks all throughout the first day of rehearsals, Scott is oblivious and Tessa is good at pretending.

Yes, Tessa answers, they have condo units in the same floor just across from each other’s. Yes, Tessa answers, they practically co-fostered a puppy. Yes, Tessa answers, Montreal has been treating them well.

Yes, Tessa answers, the coffee is _really_ exceptional at that café downtown. Yes, Tessa answers, the owner is single. Yes, Tessa answers because she’s honest, the owner is cute.

And then she takes Scott’s hand and marches towards center ice, ignoring the distant frown on his face and the tick of his jaw. It’s a soothing hand down his spine that brings him back to her just in time, and when they are told to take a break, he’s himself all over again.

(He looks at her a little differently during their routine, a heat in his eyes warmer than before, the touch of his hands more electrifying – none of that open palm caress, just his fingers closing around her thigh during that _one_ performance, the whisper of his shallow breaths by her neck as he presses their cheeks together.

She tries not to think too much of Jeff’s text messages.

Not when Scott does this thing with his eyes, the one where he stares into hers and tells her everything and nothing all at once. _I’m here._

_I’ll catch you._

_You’re okay._

She feels hot all over, little skittering tingles running under her skin where his fingers had touched.

It’s not Tessa’s first rodeo, she knows more things than she wants to know, about the whole deal of the tour, the hotel rooms, the late nights, the drinking. God knows she’s had her fair share of rumors.

But she and Scott?

The only reason he sneaks into her hotel room during tour is because her roommate is always away, and talking to him in person is better than texting him. They talk into the early hours of the morning or until she falls asleep nuzzled into his neck.

She wakes up with his smell all around her and his drool all over her pillow, his morning breath on her face, and she sometimes pretends to hate when he accidentally sleeps over until only after he gives her a pancake from his stack at the mess hall.

Rumors be damned.)

At about a half hour into the break, he grins at her and pulls her outside until they reach the end of the hallway, his phone clutched tightly in his other hand. He’s excited, Tessa can tell.

“What is it?” she asks, can’t help the excitement in her tone as well.

“Facetime,” he replies, and after a few minutes of trying to figure it out, they have Clara and George on the screen.

Scott gathers her close to say hi and the little yipping from the other side of the screen makes her heart flutter, maybe more than the proximity.

And lately there’s more of that.

When people say that Scott Moir is all this and all that, she wants to laugh and she wants to be mad at the same time. Scott is all this and all that, but he’s also a lot of things that people don’t see.

(He’s the best person to play cards with, the worst to play Scrabble with, not because he doesn’t know a lot of words but because he can make made-up words sound plausible. He’s been doing it since they were little and when Tessa caught him with his lies, he smirked so boyishly that she couldn’t help having a crush on him.

He’s the worst at hiding his emotions, _that_ people know. But he’s the best at looking for those emotions in her. He knows with just one look, and with just one hand in hers, with a smile and a nod and a hug, she calms enough to figure things out.

It’s his thing.)

There’s a lot more there and sometimes Tessa wants to scream to the world about it, but then he’s –

Skimming the ends of her skirt with his thumb as they sit with the other skaters, answering questions. He’s kissing her neck. He’s running his thumb through her hair. He’s pressing her closer with a hand to her lower back. On ice, off ice.

Her breath catches in her throat like she hasn’t had sex for two years (she’s had sex – she just hasn’t had that much, and thinking about Scott and sex at the same time is – well), and she knows the heat between her legs and the pull in her gut will never let her be loud about these little things about Scott.

They wrap their Facetime with Clara and George just as Tessa’s registering the arm he has around her and the affectionate squeezes he gives her, just how close he is to her when he’s smiling that smile.

“You okay?” he asks as he pockets his phone.

“Yeah,” she replies.

But then she keeps staring and he –

“What is it?”

Tessa shakes her head. “Nothing, I’m just… happy.”

He gives her a smile that makes his eyes sparkle. “Yeah, I get what you mean.”

She wants to kiss him (again) this close, but she purses her lips and nods instead.

*

David calls three days into the tour.

They just got out of a group rehearsal, her back tingling with the lingering feeling of Scott’s fingertips digging into her skin, and she’s still breathing heavily, but her phone is buzzing inside her bag.

When she takes it, it’s with Scott leaning over her shoulder like the nosy guy that he is. She misses the change in his eyes when she answers and says,

“David!”

There’s a deep chuckle on the other end of the line and the butterflies start again. “Tessa, how’s tour?”

“Good, good,” she answers and then ducks into a dressing room (away from Scott, from his eyes). “How’s the café?”

He sighs a bit. “The clouds in Montreal are actually grayer without you.”

Her laugh catches her off guard like David always does. “Stop, that’s not true.”

“ _I’m_ the one in Montreal, so who’s to be believed here?”

“Okay, touché. Everything is fine, I hope?”

There’s a shy laugh from him that makes it hard to restrain her smile. “Yes, I just thought I’d check in and, uh, tell you that I’m going to one of your shows next week.”

She can actually imagine David, his twinkling brown eyes giving her a coy look, his head ducking in embarrassment. This man and his hair and his tattoos and his beard, looking like he can probably take ten men down, being all shy around her. Tessa feels – something.

Her stomach actually drops at that and she can’t figure out why until she turns around to see Scott’s eyes averting. He is not frowning but he has this blank look on his face like when he’s concentrating all his efforts into not showing anything. She knows that look so well, has always wanted to put her thumb on the line on his forehead and soothe it, grab him by the arms and ask what’s wrong.

“Really?” she says into the phone instead. “Where?”

“The one in Ottawa,” David answers.

Tessa watches Scott disappear through one of the heavy curtains, as if he’s heard their conversation. A strange weight hangs onto her heart like she has done something wrong. When she hasn’t.

She will realize sometime later that the weight is anger, but not until much later. Much, _much_ later.

*

This feels like a dream.

One moment, there’s a hand on her shoulder, and then it skims lower, lower, until her fingers feel the warmth of the hand engulf them. Her skin feels hot, and the music sounds muffled. This is not the time for her knees to feel weak so she locks them and throws an arm around his neck – Scott, that’s his chest radiating heat, that’s his sweat rolling down the side of his face, that’s his breath on her lips.

“Up,” he murmurs and she jumps a little before getting swept into a lift.

The lights dim all around them when he leans in. His lips graze her cheek like all the other times before, but this time he lingers. The lights don’t come on to show just how long they stayed there. It feels like a million seconds and none at all that when the lights _do_ come on finally, they’re broken up.

The crowd goes wild, but her heart is still more deafening.

They skate into the tunnel, out of their skates, into their dressing rooms –

Scott follows her into the empty room and pins her against the lockers. Her breath gasps out of her mouth and he takes that opportunity to kiss her _hard_ , the way she’s always thought about. His hands, damn his hands, crawl up her bare thighs, bringing her skirt up with them until he’s cupping her waist. One hand goes back down, hooks behind her knee and lifts until she has her leg wrapped around his hips. And then he _grinds_ into her.

The moan that escapes her is unbridled and loud and the smirk he presses into the skin of her neck is so hot that she just might –

Wake up.

Tessa wakes up hot and bothered and _angry_.

It’s one thing to have a sex dream. She remembers having them all the time when she was a teenager and being with Scott on the rink became a little too much. It always resulted in him being frustrated with her and frowning that way that was both adorable and hot to teenage Tessa. She figured some good _private_ time would cure the heat in her gut, and most of the time it worked.

Which is what she did this morning.

But she’s still hot and bothered and _angry._

So she brings all of thatwith her until practice that morning and she is glaring at Scott. It’s his fault, actually. All of this is his fault, Tessa very much readily realizes. He touches her a little more than usual, a little tighter than usual. His nose will skim her skin a little longer and he _knows_ just how sensitive the spot is behind her ear, and he breathes on it.

“You alright there?” he whispers against her skin, all rough and quiet, and she shivers in his hold.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she answers, spurring him on.

(She misses the way he looked at her lips like he’s been dying to know what she tastes like.)

Jeff shoots them looks, raised eyebrows, and pointed hums when he circles around them to teach more choreography. Tessa ignores him, Scott tilts his head in confusion. And then he has the gall to give her a shrug and a smile as if he doesn’t know what this is all about. She wants to smack him in the back of the head, or kiss him so hard he will stop being clueless about the things he does to her.

She comes close to actually doing it when he takes her hand one practice session and says, “I found this really good café just down the street, you wanna go after? Heard they’re open 24 hours.”

And she’s helpless so she nods.

“Great,” he says. “You look good by the way.”

And then he skates away like a moron.

She’s still hot and bothered and angry when he drags her away from her conversation with Gabby after rehearsals and to his parking spot out back.

“Parking is worse at night,” he reasons at her disbelieving stare.

She’s still hot and bothered and angry when they get into his car and drive away, even when he’s smiling at her and telling her about the pictures Clara took of George. Clara, on the other hand, had to ask her daughter how to work that particular feature of her phone just to send pictures to him.

“I can’t reach my phone, I’m driving, can you get it from my back pocket?”

She wants to slap him but she still does as she’s told. Even when they’re at a stop light. Even when he can definitely drive one-handed.

(She also knows the passcode to his phone. It’s not a weird thing, no.)

“Look at the second one.” His eyes leave the road for a moment to look at her excitedly. “He destroyed her plastic plants.”

“We’re going to pay for that.”

Scott laughs. “She said she doesn’t mind, but yeah.”

“We’ll just give her a new one. Do you think she’d like fortune plants?”

He shrugs. “They’re plastic, Tess. Does it really matter?”

“This is why you needed me to choose your furniture,” she says as they pull up a small hole-in-the-wall café.

 _The Sleepy Otter_ , it says up front, and it takes Tessa an embarrassingly long time to notice that their hands are intertwined, not until they’re letting go to sit. She fights to keep her blush at a minimum even harder because he’s smiling at her over his mug as he waits for the punch line of his joke to sink in.

(It lands poorly, the joke, but Tessa still laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. And then frowns to herself because maybe that’s giving too much away.)

It’s funny that he orders the same thing she does because he doesn’t care much about coffee, but maybe he cares about spending time with her.

“How did you find this place?” she asks midway into their shared croissant.

It’s well into midnight and she’s thinking she maybe needs at least five hours of sleep to function as a decent human being tomorrow (later), but she’s feeling no inclination to leave this little café when Scott is making the worst impressions of Jeff teaching them choreography.

“Kaet told me – Osmond,” he says. “Told me it’s, uh, a good date spot.”

She looks around and sees the fairy lights and feels the rustic feel and surveys the few couples sitting and talking and thinks _yes_ , now if this were a real date…

“She has a good eye,” Tessa shrugs, and it could just be her imagination but Scott makes a frustrated sound at the back of his throat. Too soft to really be heard clearly.

“That she does,” Scott agrees and takes a long gulp of his coffee.

Tessa laughs. “Slow down there, that’s not beer.”

He glares at her, soft and not really intimidating, and mumbles under his breath something suspiciously like “wish it were”.

They leave at just past 1:30 in the morning, all stuffed with pastry and coffee, and this time her hand seeking his is a conscious decision. It’s dark and he’s walking so slowly to where they’re parked, but it’s okay because his hand is warm around hers and she wants to make this feeling stay.

Sometime between the door of the café to the door of his car, his arm came around her shoulders.

“It’s cold,” he murmurs. She hides her smile against his jacket.

The drive to the hotel is quiet and warm and when he insists on walking her up to her floor she nods.

She still doesn’t understand tonight. Like the whole twenty plus years of them, she doesn’t understand most of anything, really. People think she has it together but she is as clueless to this as the next person. And when he waits for her to open her door, looking hesitant in the hallway, she has to ask, “Do you want to come inside?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, but,” he ducks his head and laughs softly. “Thank you for indulging me today. I missed talking to you.”

“We talk every day.”

“Yeah, but still.”

He looks up at her under his lashes, all bashful and soft that her heart thuds and her breath stops in her chest abruptly.

“See you tomorrow,” she says, a bit breathlessly.

She’s pushing the door closed in front of her but his arm shoots out and stops her. “Tessa, wait.”

And then he’s so close that she can count his eyelashes if she can concentrate enough. Which she can’t. Because he’s _too_ close.

“So,” he says in a rough whisper. “I’ll meet you at the lobby tomorrow, is seven okay?”

Tessa nods because her throat doesn’t work, apparently. His eyes look turbulent, a storm in sepia tones that she can’t quite fathom, and just as she’s drowning in them, that’s when he leans in. It’s his lips on her cheeks that bring her back to the present, that remind her to breathe a gasp of air. Her hand rests on the back of his neck, to keep him there or to brace herself, she doesn’t know. But he lingers, and heat blooms under her skin so suddenly that she curls in on him, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

They stay like that for a long time, just breathing each other in, and when they break away, he’s biting his lower lip. His eyes are still dark and heated and she would very much like to pull his bottom lip from his teeth and bite it herself but –

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, voice still deep and coarse.

And then he’s gone, and Tessa, like this morning, is hot and bothered but oddly calm.

*

Three things happen in quick succession the next week.

It’s the last week of tour when David messages her that he’s at the venue in Ottawa.

 _i have flowers_ , he texts, and she replies with a thumbs up emoji because it’s five minutes until showtime and Scott is beaming at her from across the room, his mouth filled with bread.

She takes her mind away from David, forgets about everything else in the world because that’s what skating with Scott always guarantees; an escape. She feels nothing else but the helpless pull of her smile and his hands, the music, the applause, the thud of her heart in her chest, the shortness of her breath.

(Once upon a time, she feared that this would all go away. That one day, in the middle of skating with her partner, she would suddenly lose that feeling. Twenty or so years later, it still hasn’t faded. It’s still there and she’s starting to believe it will never go away.

That’s something she holds near her heart.)

When they take that final bow, he doesn’t take his eyes off her and she doesn’t pull her hand away. He kisses her cheek and smiles, and it’s like nothing else matters.

Until the walk to the dressing room and she spots David waiting by the doorway to hers, white dress shirt tucked neatly into slacks. He has flowers in his hands, and he looks up and smiles at her.

This time, she lets go of Scott’s hand and walks over to him.

David kisses her on the cheek. Congratulates her, hugs her, gives her the flowers.

Scott disappears.

David holds her arms and grins. “Are you free tonight? I know a place.”

“What place?”

“Lovely furniture, small and private, decent coffee,” he says.

“Only decent?” she asks.

He shrugs. “The best is in Montreal.”

And when they pull up, it says _The Sleepy Otter_ up front and it feels a bit like cheating.

This is what happens first:

They take a booth near the windows and he orders for the both of them. Tessa doesn’t remember what she got here from last time, but David says he’s got it.

He makes it clear that it’s a date about ten minutes in. He doesn’t take her hand until half an hour in and she is very much aware of it. Her palms sweat a bit, and she feels tiny prickles in her skin but she ignores it for the sake of conversation. They talk about her skating, his business, who takes care of his business while he’s away – it’s Tom, his helpless barista. She laughs because as much as she likes Tom, he’s a mess.

And she should have seen it coming. They’re by the windows, for God’s sakes. But it still catches her off guard when the bells by the door of the café ring and in comes Scott.

She can tell by the tension in his shoulders and the clench in his jaw that he’s trying to keep emotions in. He must have seen them, and what a sight they must be. He doesn’t look at them though, not really. But he _must_ have seen.

 _A good date spot_ , he’d said.

He’s in and out in no time, just a to-go cup and nothing else. David observes her quietly.

And Tessa, she’s angry.

There are words, she wants to yell at Scott, that he can use to tell her exactly why he’s doing the things he’s doing, to maybe explain the feelings he’s feeling. But he doesn’t use them and Tessa is _so_ angry that she forgets about David for a full minute until he sits back on his chair and sighs.

“Well, that was weird,” he says and shoots her a suspicious look.

“He’s just… being weird.”

David is quiet for a while. “I should have known. I mean, you’re both so _good_ on the ice.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “I just think I should probably shoot for just friendship instead when you’ve got –

“We’re not!” Tessa exclaims, and the intensity of her protestation surprises even herself. “I mean, we’re best friends.”

David smirks. “Does he know that?”

“Of course he does.” _He does_. They’re friends, friends who kiss each other’s cheeks, friends who know how to sync their breathing, friends who do friendly stuff.

David hums, expression inscrutable. “So I should… keep doing this?”

She says _yes, of course_ and her heart wants to scream.

*

They go home two days later in the same car because that makes the most sense, but they haven’t spoken at length ever since _David_.

They spoke, of course. They can’t not.

But _ready to go?_

_Yes._

And _here we are_.

_Thank you._

Are not enough. Stilted conversations about whether they need to take a break or stop at a gas station chip away at her mood all day until they reach their building, and until she hears the click of the lock behind her.

There’s a full minute of her just standing by her door with her suitcases on the floor, contemplating just lounging on her bed in her pajamas even with a whole day ahead when she hears a faint knock on her door.

It’s Scott and George – and no matter how angry she is at Scott, she can’t resist George.

“Hi, baby,” she coos at the puppy as it wriggles to get out of his grip. “I missed you, how have you been? Did you give Clara more headaches?”

She doesn’t look up at Scott when he speaks. “No, he didn’t,” he says, voice weak. “Or so Clara says.”

“You’re such a good boy, George,” she tells the dog. “Even if I’m mad at your dad.”

“Tessa –

But she’s not having it. “Be good, okay? I’ll take you for a walk tomorrow.”

“Tessa, I –

And then she closes the door to his face, even if it pains her to leave him and George like that.

The second thing happens pretty quickly: David asks her for a second date the next day.

It’s in a fancy restaurant she hasn’t been to yet, and he picks her up at exactly 7:30 on the dot. Their reservation is at 8:00 and he is never late.

He pulls her chair out for her, doesn’t joke about the lady in the next table whose dress matches the curtains. He, instead, makes a quip about the French named plates and Tessa laughs, but it feels like part of a script. When she accidentally touches her foot to his under the table, he doesn’t kick her back and start a kicking war. Instead, he chuckles and says ‘sorry’.

She wants so much to say that she’s having a great night but she misses the inside jokes and the meaningful glances. She misses hazel eyes and a soft quiet laugh for when they’re laughing at something they shouldn’t be laughing about.

She’s laughing instead at something he said about the dessert they’re sharing when her phone buzzes with a call. She wants to turn it off but it’s Clara’s contact blinking at her from the screen. It’s 10:40 PM, she usually goes to bed by 9. Tessa almost immediately wants to grab her things and go.

David looks at her with an unreadable expression, but nods nevertheless.

“Sorry,” she murmurs to him before taking the call. “Hey, Clara, is everything alright?”

“Tessa,” the old lady says, and there’s something about her tone that brings Tessa to the verge of panic. “It’s Scott.”

“What happened?”

There’s shuffling on her end and Tessa waits with her heart beating too fast in her chest.

“He hasn’t come out of his unit since this afternoon,” Clara says, concern lacing her voice. “After the men came. The men with the dog cage.” _The men from the shelter._ “And then there are weird noises in his place right now – I’m just really worried about him.”

 _George_. They took George away today.

“Have you tried calling him?” she asks, but she’s already checking her things and slipping on the shoes she wrestled away from her feet under the table after their orders were served.

“Yes, but he hasn’t answered. Tessa, can you come home?”

“I’m on my way.”

But she looks up at David and he’s looking at her like he’s just lost a war. He then gives her a small smile.

“I never did stand a chance, did I?”

“I’m sorry,” Tessa begins but David shakes his head.

“Hey, at least I tried, right? And I should have known.”

“Dave.”

“When you told me you were best friends, did you mean that?”

Tessa looks at him in disbelief. “Of course, I did.”

“And he needs you right now, so go.” He ducks his head and doesn’t meet her eyes, and Tessa’s heart breaks a little. “If tomorrow, you still want to do _this_ , you can call me.”

She gets up from her seat and he says, “Actually, don’t call me. You, uh, figure your shit out. You can still come by but no more free drinks.”

Tessa smiles. “I deserve that.”

*

When they moved into the same building, it was Tessa who gave him her spare keys first, and then he gave her his.

He has only ever used hers once ever since, and she’s used his more than a couple of times. (He gets locked out a lot and usually it’s when they’re grocery shopping so he doesn’t have to worry. But sometimes, it’s when he went out drinking with his buddies and he calls her all drunk and desperate because he _lost my keys_ , _Tess, please I need you_ , and then she never lets him live it down the next day when they find it in his back pocket. Just like he deserves.)

This is by far the worst use of his spare key, Tessa thinks, as she opens the door and sees the mess of his living room.

She realizes that this is what it always looked like – mismatched rugs, chew toys, shoes. Beer cans and a tall bottle of something hard, those are what made the difference.

Suddenly, Tessa’s anger gets shoved to the back of her heart.

“Scott?” she calls out because he _should_ be here somewhere.

There’s a faint _here_ from behind the couch and she finds him there like he forgot how couches work. He’s drunk, _so drunk_ and Tessa knows what he’s like when he’s like this.

“Are you – you already took George, what more do you – do you want?”

Firstly, he doesn’t recognize anyone.

It should probably be alarming especially out in public, but he has only ever gotten this way twice. After Kaitlyn Lawes and… well tonight.

“I’m not the shelter, Scott, come on, get up.”

When they were 15 and 17, they made a pact to each other. It’s possibly during their thousandth time crossing the border when he took her hand because she was crying silently and looking out the window, refusing to show him her tears. There was only so much a child who was barely a young adult could take being away from family and friends and home, so he took her hand, squeezed until she looked at him, and smiled.

“I’ll always be here, T,” he had said with sincere eyes, and she believed it with all her heart. She would, it came from the only person who knew what she was going through. And she might have been a little bit in love with him at 15 because he was cool and grown up and he took care of her. “No matter what, I’ll be here.”

There was a song in the background coming from the radio, she can’t remember well, but after that, she’s listened to that song lying in her bed until her heart gave out.

Tonight feels like listening to that song over and over again. It feels like crossing some kind of border, like an invisible hand clutching hers and saying words she can’t understand.

It’s a mix of emotions in her chest, looking at Scott lying on the couch with his eyes closed, murmuring to himself.

She gets up from where she’s crouched in front of him to get him a glass of water and some Tylenol, thinking they can talk about this tomorrow, but then his hand shoots out and grabs at hers –

“I screwed up,” he says, but his eyes are still closed. He could just be dreaming.

“Scott? I’m just gonna get you a –

“No,” and his forehead scrunches up as he lies on his side. His eyes open just a fraction and he’s _so_ drunk. “Don’t leave. You have to – to tell Tessa.”

Her heart thumps wildly in her chest.

“Tell Tessa. She’s the one with the pretty green eyes and the – the pretty hair. You’d know her anywhere.”

Tessa doesn’t know what to do, between his death grip on her arm and his drunk murmurings, she’s frozen in place.

“I fucked up.” He sniffles and reaches for the beer can by his head, but she reaches out first and puts it away. He frowns. “Tell her… she can date anyone she wants to date. Anyone. But I don’t want her to leave me. I promised her that I’ll always be here. I screwed up and now she’s angry with me and they _took George_. She loved George so much, I wish I can turn back time and be – be better. And Darren, uh, Daryl, he’s a good guy. I hope he treats her well or else… or else…”

He puts her hand on his chest and nuzzles the throw pillow under his head like a kid, and Tessa is endeared.

(She’s still trying to wrap her mind around everything that he’s saying, but she lets him. There’s nothing she can do when he’s being affectionate.)

“I love her so much. And she’s – everybody – everybody wants to put her in a, a box. But she destroys boxes and I love her. Don’t tell her that. I’m – I’ll tell her that.”

His hair is getting so long, Tessa realizes as she runs her fingers through it.

And then he chuckles softly, so softly that she thinks she imagined it. “She drives me so crazy sometimes. When she runs her fingers in my hair. When she does that thing with her eyes. Like look at me. So, so crazy…” his voice fades as he presses his face to the pillow. “I want to… I want to kiss her. But she dates other people. And if she wants to keep dating Devon, I’m – I’m okay with that. I just don’t want her to leave me.”

Tessa doesn’t know whether she wants to cry or laugh or both because here is Scott with his heart bared and he doesn’t know.

The third thing happens: Tessa realizes she’s in love with Scott like having the lock click. It isn’t a collision, not full on, not head on like in the novels.

It hits her like the first rain of spring. She must have known it’s coming from far away, but she just wasn’t looking.

The heavy weight in her chest isn’t anger or lust or anything else. It’s Scott and his goddamn oral fixation, and his love for George, and his hand around hers. It’s when he laughs into her hair when she’s unexpectedly funny, and then pouts because he’s _supposed to be the funny one_.

It’s him and his jealousy and the way he always looks like he wants to pin her against the wall and kiss her senseless. It’s him and the long drives to cities, the short drives to grocery stores, the gas stops, the vending machine coffees. Suddenly, all of those things make sense.

She wants all of those again with him.

“Scott,” she whispers against his forehead, pressing a kiss there softly. He smells like beer and pinecones and sweat and _Scott_ , she loves that smell.

He opens his eyes partly and then smiles, relief in the lines on his face as he recognizes her, finally. “Tess, you’re here.”

“Yeah, let’s get you to bed.”

(There’s a fourth and final thing: somewhere deep in her, she realizes that the glances, the touches, when Scott smiles a little longer, stares a little deeper – she realizes that maybe he feels the same way.

She thinks of grocery stores and the dog park, when all of a sudden she’d be blown by the simple fact that their hands are intertwined. She would try to ask but he’d lean in and ask about cereal with his eyes so bright and so alive and so close, and she’d forget about her question. So many times.)

*

Sometime during the night last night, he pulls her into bed with him like all those times before, and tells her not to go, and Tessa’s heart’s pull is so much stronger than the pull of getting out of her dress and sleeping in her own bed so she stays, curling up in her own space until he tugs her to turn around and cuddle his back.

Besides, she’s in love with him and the content smile on his face when she stays.

The last thing she remembers before falling asleep is the sound of his sigh.

And when she wakes up at six, she is honestly a little surprised. It usually takes about a full hour for her to fully be human who can carry a conversation but – it’s the nerves, she thinks frantically. There’s a serene kind of calm on Scott’s face when she glances at him, the simple kind of calm where his laugh lines are relaxed and his hair is flopping down on his forehead. He doesn’t really snore, but he hums in his sleep when he’s tired. She wants to run her fingers into his hair again but she’s afraid he’ll wake and – well, she needs to gather herself first.

When he stirs in his sleep, her heart pounds so painfully and she thinks – it’s the nerves.

It’s also nerves that bring her to the kitchen at the break of dawn, looking around for bread and eggs.

(When she said she can nail breakfast food, she really meant she’s decent with it. It’s Scott who can do something fancy.)

That’s why five minutes and an attempt and a half later of toast and failing at it, she’s sitting on his kitchen counter in the dress she wore last night, waiting out for the smell of burnt bread to dissipate. She’s chewing her lip and looking wordlessly at the eggs, trying to remember what Scott told her. It was mostly _no eggshells please_ or _there’s no proper way of whisking but somehow you’re still doing it wrong_.

That’s how he finds her, emerging from the bedroom with his hair sticking up in all directions, still squinty-eyed. He still looks like he’s dreaming, looks like his breath has stopped in his chest (and her, too, but he – he looks dumbfounded in an annoyingly cute kind of way). Then he says, “I didn’t dream you,” and Tessa’s heart breaks a little.

She bites her lip and looks him over as he stands there a good few feet away like his legs can’t move towards her when before, it wouldn’t take him a second to be by her side.

“You were so drunk last night,” she says, trying to be nonchalant. The burnt toasts sit beside her cup of coffee and she wants to throw them away but she’s frozen in place.

There’s shuffling and the padding of feet and all of a sudden, he’s sitting across from her, not meeting her eyes. He’s staring wordlessly at the eggs like what she was doing before he came, and it reminds her so much of when they were little and he said a bad word and his mom gave him the most terrifying look Tessa has ever seen up to the present.

“Do you remember anything?” she asks. He shakes his head.

“Anything at all?” he shakes his head again. And okay, this time, she wants to smack him upside the head. “Do you want to look at me anytime soon? Scott?”

If he keeps up with the charade, Tessa swears there and then, she will force his eyes onto hers, make him see the anger in her and make him understand.

He steals a glance.

He brings his hand up to his mouth and chews on his thumb like he used to do when he was nervous. Countless dressing rooms, sitting together, his legs jiggling as he occupies his mouth with his finger; countless words whispered into his ear, into his hair, into his neck, her hands settling against his thighs to _stop_ them. Always a hand to his cheek to force him to look at her and hear her because if she wouldn’t, he wouldn’t.

He can get so lost in his head.

“Scott –

“I’m fine.”

It catches Tessa off guard, the way he said it. So final, like an answer to an internal debate he was having with himself.

“What do you mean you’re _fine_?” she asks.

He looks up (finally) and his eyes are liquid steel, strong and determined. “You and David. You seem… happy.” He takes a deep breath and continues. “I think, if you want, you can date other people. If I – if I hold you back, I’ll be… I’ll go. Not far, I’m just right across the hall, but I’ll stop. If you want.”

“Scott –

“I’ve been – it’s been very weird. It must be confusing for you –

She doesn’t know what possesses her or pushes her, but she’s in front of him in a heartbeat, her hands on both his cheeks. When his eyes meet hers, they’re deep hazel and dark and glassy, a million apologies in them that no words can ever speak and she knows the feeling so well – has carefully held his one hand while the other traces patterns on the skin of her calves as they sit on his couch watching a movie, has listened to him sing to her in the car, has _felt his heart thud against her chest before they skate together_ . It’s in everything he does, and if she can tell him with words how _forgiven_ he is, she will. But just as well, there are no words.

So she kisses him.

She traces the shell of his ear and takes his lips softly, a universe of non-existent words between their shared breaths; the shiver that wracks his body makes her feel giddy and light, something she has _never_ felt with anyone before. When his hands bunch against her dress, so lightly, so hesitantly, she feels electricity down to her bones. And then he gasps and pulls away so fast.

“Tess,” he whispers, breathless. His pupils are blown, his cheeks red with blush, and his breathing is rough. “What are you doing?”

But he doesn’t pull far away, he stays in her orbit, and if she looks a little closer, she will see the beginnings of a smile pull at his lips.

“I’m shutting you up,” she says, and her voice is as soft as his like they’re sharing secrets between them that the world will never know. His fingers close around the fabric of her dress like he’s afraid she’ll go.

“Tess –

“I’m in love with you.”

She feels him take a deep breath, as close as she is to his body, and his jaw snaps shut. And when there’s more silence, she smiles and threads her fingers through his hair.

“Just so you know,” she tells him.

This time, it’s Scott who kisses her. Hard, desperate, hot – his hands pulling her closer to the open space between his legs, pressing her up against him. His solid body against her, heat in her skin akin to the fire she feels when they’re on ice. A hungry noise rips from his throat when she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and bites down a little, the sound making her feel weak in the knees, and suddenly, it’s her whole world in one kiss.

“Are you sure?” he says between kisses, and his lips, they travel to her cheek, down to her neck where she’s weak. “Are you sure you’re – in love – with me?”

“Scott,” she breathes, eyes closed. Her fingers fist into his hair and he gives a surprised grunt, and _oh_. He likes that. “I’m sure. I’m so sure.”

Their words tangle together as their kisses grow hotter.

“Because I am, too –

“I’m sure –

“I’m so in love with you –

“Scott—

He stops abruptly, his forehead coming to rest on the center of her chest, his breaths washing over her skin a little too fast. The pause is like a bucket of ice-cold water down her head, his words sinking in a little bit late, and she shivers.

When she tells the media that there are no words for how complicated their relationship is, this is what it means. It means that being in love with each other feels like an old song, but a new one, too. That kissing is something that they have never done before, not intentionally at least, but it feeling like an airport reunion stabs her in the gut – and then she realizes:

It’s their hearts.

She has come home.

Her hand tightens in his hair and she lifts his head up to meet her gaze. He looks like he’s in disbelief, like everything is too much. She speaks first. “I have been for a very long time. I don’t know when, but I know I am.”

“I don’t –

 _Deserve this,_ he was about to say, but she kisses the words out of his mouth before they latch on to the fluttering feelings in her chest. “You do,” she whispers against his mouth, and the noise he makes, the faint sob just rips her heart out. “I love you.”

He pulls her into his lap and kisses the side of her head, finally a smile on his lips. Their foreheads rest against each other, just breathing, just basking, his other hand at the back of her neck.

And then he wrinkles his nose. “Were you trying to burn down my kitchen?”

She laughs, but not without slapping his chest. He catches her hand and keeps it there. “I was trying to make you breakfast,” she tells him. He kisses the tip of her nose and he laughs.

“Didn’t know you had to dress up for that,” he says, tugging at the strap of her dress. His fingers skim under the thin lace, making her shiver. But two can play at this game, she thinks.

She doesn’t hold in her smirk. “Would you prefer if I didn’t?” her hand runs up his chest and his mouth snaps shut. She presses her smile to his ear, letting her breath touch the skin there. She thrills at the thought that even just _this_ makes him shudder. And then more quietly, she says, “at all?”

“Tess,” he almost pleads, all out of breath, and she loves the way he says her name. Like she brings the rain and he basks in it. “Aren’t you hungry?”

She tugs at his hair and his eyes go dark with desire. “I am.”

When he kisses her again, it’s not just with his lips. It’s with the way he claws at the sheer of her dress, the way he presses closer until there’s no space between their bodies anymore, it’s with the way he tilts his head so that he can kiss her better.

He lifts her up, drops her down on her feet and presses her into the kitchen counter, his hands settling on her waist and nowhere else. And – she knows what he’s doing. He’s holding back. But she doesn’t want that, she wants Scott with all his intensity, with all the heart he has, the Scott she is so in love with. He’s afraid, he’s shaking, and he’s restraining himself.

So she lifts her leg and wraps it around his waist, bringing them together and _grinding_ hard against him. He groans, low and long, and freezes.

“Tessa, I…” he starts, but she puts her hand over his mouth, effectively muffling his protests. She can feel him hard against the thin fabric of his worn sweatpants, and his labored breathing against her own chest, and if he doesn’t act on this soon, she will.

Her other hand travels down and palms him through his clothes and he gives a grunt, his eyes widening. “I want you,” she tells him, stroking firmly. “And I know you want me, too.”

He breathes hard, an assent if she ever heard one.

“Then show me.”

There’s a brief moment of complete silence where only his rapid pulse is all she can feel. In her mind, she’s cataloguing the heat of his skin, and the feel of his mouth. In her chest, she’s feeling the sharpness of his gaze as they pierce into her heart. It’s all so new and so familiar.

And then he growls, and her nerves fire so fast she can’t help but press into his body. “I’ll show you,” he murmurs, rips her hand away from his mouth and kisses her so hard she squeaks.

The next few moments happen in a blur –

He lifts her and she wraps her legs around his waist, the moan coming out of her mouth unbridled and embarrassingly loud.

He drops her onto the bed, licks his lips hungrily against the harshness of his breathing, and says, “On your stomach.”

She obeys because there’s something about the command in his voice that turns her on.

He presses a palm just below her neck, his other hand finding the zipper and pulling down slowly until he’s at the end. He comes back atop her and peels the dress open, the breath from his lungs skimming the slowly baring skin of her back. She feels his lips press against her spine (reverently, down down _down_ ), and she whimpers into the covers of his bed.

It smells so much like him, like last night, like every night.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against her skin and she shivers when his tongue slips out to taste her. He reaches her waist and pulls the dress down until it settles on the floor next to the bed. She wore no bra with the dress, and he exhales when he belatedly realizes. “Face me now, Tess.”

And there she lays, bare. Her chest rises and falls with the breaths she takes and he looks enamored. He looks like the start of every skate, like every ending pose, like every time the lights dim and he gives her one last long look before they skate into the dark.

It’s her favorite look.

He leans down and kisses her again, softly, and her eyes close to the sensation of his hands caressing her face, down to her neck, to the valley between her breasts. Her breath stutters when his hand skims her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. She gasps, her back bows off the bed, when his mouth latches onto a breast, wet and warm.

Her hands thread into his hair, gives him a little tug, and she feels more than hears his moan against her skin. He must be leaving marks on her skin, and she remembers the bruises on her thighs the shape of his fingertips, remembers wishing they were for something else.

But now, with his still clothed thigh pressing against her panties, giving her just enough pressure to keep her writhing, she knows _something else_ is coming.

She moans his name and he growls hers.

He travels further south until he’s breathing against the simple black fabric, and then he scoffs.

“You and your fancy underwear deliveries,” Scott says, tickling the hairs of her stomach. Her muscles twitch in anticipation as he traces his fingers against the waistband. “I’m so glad you didn’t think of them when you wore this last night for Denny.”

She laughs, giddy, tugging at his hair in admonishment. (She really loves it long, loves when his eyes roll back into his head when she gives a sharp tug, before he gathers his wits to tease her more.) “You _know_ his name is David. And can we not talk about him? I’m trying to get laid here.”

He shakes his head, smiling. His thumbs hook at the garters but he doesn’t move any further, and at this point, tension is rolling off of her in waves that she’s about a hairsbreadth away from frustration. When he looks up, he’s hesitating again. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Her breathing quickens when he licks his lips, and she nods. Finally, he pulls them down, reveals all of her to him.

His eyes are hungry, his lips parted, his tongue keeps wetting them and his sweatpants are straining. He looks so hot like this, hair a mess, flush under his skin. And he says the damnedest things. “Can I taste you?” he rests his forehead against her stomach, breathing her in. “I want to taste you.”

She nods, then remembers that he can’t see, and says, “Yes.”

At the first touch of his tongue, electricity fires down her spine, igniting her blood like no other has done. He doesn’t let up, seems to know what she likes. Or it could be that she’s speaking, murmuring, _yes there, harder please, Scott, please_.

But she can’t help it, not when he’s relentless and lovely and making small noises against her aching core, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. And god, she wants to live in this moment forever, just burning for him, under him, at the mercy of his tongue. But he seems on a mission, his fingers digging into her hips that she’s sure would leave bruises all day, his mouth vigorous against her.

Her cries become louder, louder still as she gets close, and it’s only when he squeezes her hip that she realizes that he’s talking.

“Tell me, Tess, are you close?”

“Yes yes, Scott, I’m close –

In a flash, he’s back face to face with her, eyes burning into hers. His mouth is replaced with his hand, fingers sinking into her as his thumb circles her clit. He doesn’t take his time, just fucks her hard with his fingers, and the sudden change makes her keen into his mouth, not kissing, no, just hovering out of reach. He’s smiling and she wants to wipe that away but she’s burning up, hands clutching at his biceps so hard that her nails are digging into his skin.

“Scott –

“Yes?”

She swallows, words coming and going like the breath from her lungs. But she finds them amidst the swirl of her brain. “I’m gonna come,” she finally says.

“Good,” he whispers, so close, so _close_. “Come.”

And it shatters her.

She clenches around his fingers and he drinks it all in, not letting go until she’s shivering and biting her lip from making any more embarrassing noises. She finally sees it in his eyes, the reason he went back up, to watch her climax. It’s hot and endearing at the same time when she thinks about before, when no one really paid this much attention. She really loves him.

He stays smiling at her for a very long time, smug and content at the same time that she almost forgets the hardness pressing into her bare thigh. He seems the same, but only until she brings her thigh up and brushes against his erection that he gasps and almost falls on top of her.

“Tessa,” he grunts. “I might not last.”

She cards her hands through his hair and gives him a smile. “I’ll take care of you.”

Scott nods and rises, sitting back to rip his shirt off from himself. She sits and watches, always loved seeing him undress. Countless dressing rooms, she remembers. He’s bulked up, lines deep and pronounced, and she loves his smile and his eyes, but she’s also a human being with eyes. After all, she loves _all_ of him.

“Like what you see?” he asks when he finds her staring.

“I do.” She bites her lip and his eyes drop to her mouth. He groans.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he says as he climbs back to her, eyes glued to her lips. He gets rid of his sweatpants and his underwear and – god, she’s always known, at the back of her mind, that when he presses against her on the ice, she can feel the outline of him through their clothes. But she has never seen him. Not like this. Bared, vulnerable, but happy.

He looks so happy.

She kisses him slow, desperate to hold on to the feeling, to catch his happiness and trap it inside him. She hopes to always see it, and sometimes, maybe most of the time, be why it’s there.

Tessa reaches down until he’s in her grasp, just in her fingers. He chokes on air, buries his face against her neck and shivers. “Tessa, please. I can come like this.”

“Then get inside me, now.”

In a surprising show of force, he grabs her wrists with a hand and pins them above her head, guides himself to her entrance, and with a push of his hips, slides into her. It was smooth, and she gasps at the stretch.

This feels like _it_ , Tessa thinks. This feels so good, so right. She tells him so.

He gives a weak little laugh as he starts moving and – oh god, she’s already burning up again. He grunts as he speeds up, like he can’t help it, can’t help the pull. “You feel so good,” he tells her, kissing her ear. “I’m close, Tess. Touch yourself.”

His grip relents on her wrist, guides her hand down to where she’s aching. She touches herself with his control.

When she falls over the edge again, he’s there falling with her as well, holding her hand, breath hitching against the skin of her throat. He stills, breathing labored and rough, heart hammering against her chest, and she wraps her arms around his back when he collapses against her.

They stay like that for a long minute, too long, a lifetime in seconds, until their breathing evens out. Their heartbeats sync up, their souls link together.

When she meets his eyes again, they’re shining with desire and love that it takes her breath away. His lips are parted, like words are waiting just behind them. He takes a deep breath, ragged and soft at the same time, and she knows him enough. This is his heart and he’s opening it up for her. To her.

“I want you all the time,” he confesses quietly into the morning air, and her heart gives a funny little flip. Sometimes, he can be too much of something, and right now he chooses to be this. “But more than that, I want to be close to you. All day, all night, every day, not just on this bed. Everywhere. I want to be yours. Tessa, if we do this, you’ll have my heart to keep. Break it, whatever. It’s yours. I’m yours. I have always been yours. Tell me you understand.”

She’s still breathless when she takes his face in her hands and gives him a shaky smile. She wants to cry, she wants to laugh, her heart so full and light, impossibly light that she feels like she’s floating, and if there are just words to say, she would tell him. But for now, all she says is:

“And _I_ am yours. All of me. I can’t imagine being anyone else’s.”

His smile grows so blinding that tears are forming at the corners of her eyes. She can see them in his too, hazel shining to gold in the light coming from the windows.

He settles beside her, face so close.

There’s still what he said last night. There’s still David to talk about. There’s still a lot of things. But right now, he’s about to fall asleep again, and she’s close to doing the same. So she lets it.

*

Tessa falls in love with Scott like no one in the novels fall in love.

It only takes her twenty or so years.

Borders, flights. Coffee shops, apartments, ice rinks. It only takes her thousands of songs in the car, a multitude on the ice, a couple sung to her ear before falling asleep on the couch together before she realizes that the feeling of getting up on all those podiums, winning the Olympics, taking the ice for shows, would never be the same if it weren’t Scott that’s beside her.

Two months later, she holds his hand and tells him they’re adopting a puppy. She wants to call it George the Second, but he vetoes it. Instead, they name her Tiny because she’s a huge golden retriever who never listens to anyone unless they’re holding a treat.

They never tell the media, but they do tell their families and friends.

It’s at the next year’s Stars on Ice that Tessa realizes that she hates Jeffrey Buttle with all her might, because when she and Scott walk into the first venue of tour, hand in hand, his lips planting a kiss to the side of her head, their good friend skates so fast into Chiddy and Eric at the other end of the ice and yells, “Pay up, bitches!”

(She realizes that she also hates half of the cast when at the mess hall, she sees the very unsubtle passing of bills between people she _trusted_.

It’s Scott who frowns at them. “You all think you’re so funny,” he says and then sulks into his club sandwich until she squeezes his knee and gives him a smile. He smiles back. Screw these assholes.)

It feels like she’s spent a lifetime falling in love with Scott, and it feels like she’s not going to stop any time soon, and it’s always that feeling that gives her pause. When she looks at him and sees the way he looks at her, hears the way he says her name, the way he holds her hand, she feels like he’s on the same page.

No, scratch that.

She knows he is.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. leave a kudos or a comment. also, i'd tell you to follow me on tumblr but that place is a mess so find me on twitter instead. i'm the same username.


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